


in the mouth of a man (who was devouring us both).

by katarama



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst, Boston, Future Fic, Jack plays for the Penguins instead, M/M, Off-Season, Past Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Past Kent Parson/Jack Zimmermann, Summer, and it fucks everything up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 13:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12367167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katarama/pseuds/katarama
Summary: If Bitty closed his eyes, he could be back in Georgia.





	in the mouth of a man (who was devouring us both).

**Author's Note:**

  * For [palateens](https://archiveofourown.org/users/palateens/gifts).



The air is so hot and wet that sweat beads above Bitty’s upper lip from the barest amount of exertion.  In the shade, Bitty feels marginally better; there’s some relief from the sun’s harsh rays, at least.  But the air is so still he can’t even hear the rustling of leaves overhead.  The world weighs heavily on him, from the air so thick he could choke to the rough, uneven bark of the tree digging into his back to the uncomfortable prickle of grass against the parts of his thighs exposed by his too-short shorts.

With this weather, if Bitty closed his eyes, he could be back in Georgia.  

He hasn’t been home in four years, since the summer after his sophomore year, but Bitty has still spent a lot of time closing his eyes and being in Georgia this summer.  Now that the Bruins have finished their season, he has a lot more time on his hands.  He’s spent far too much of it at the Public Garden, staring down geese from under the shade of a willow tree, hoping to catch the smallest breeze from the pond and ignoring the buzzing of his phone in his pocket.  

It’s always the old Samwell Hockey groupchat.

Jack hasn’t sent the chat a message in over two years.  

Holster says they all should’ve expected that when Jack signed with the Pens, but it doesn’t make it sting any less.  It almost makes it sting more, for Bitty.  He had so much hope during that first summer after Jack graduated.  

Bitty wishes he could forget most of that summer the way he wishes he could forget all the things that brush too closely to pure happiness.  He wishes he could forget the time in May of his sophomore year, the week before Jack’s graduation, when Jack insisted they cut through Boston Commons on the way to the movies.  Jack derailed the whole afternoon’s plans by insisting they go on a swan boat ride, because Bitty never had before, and “you won’t be in Boston after you graduate, right?”  He wishes he could forget the way his arm pressed against Jack’s and the way it made his heart beat fast in his chest, the way he listened to Jack talk about his photography class and his final project and the way Jack kept looking right at Bitty like it was important, and Bitty was just missing the reason why.

Bitty wishes he could forget the way he felt when things finally clicked, the way Jack’s lips felt pressed against his, the confusing tangle of emotions that took him hours to sort through.  The way things shifted quickly from crying to kissing to clinging to his phone, waiting for some kind of explanation for the lingering warmth in Bitty’s gut.

Bitty’s long since been reworked and idealized and glossed over the parts of the summer after the kiss in his head.  He’s fragmented the summer into pies with fresh apples from the backyard and sweet tea on the front porch and his phone lighting up with constant texts that made Bitty smile so wide his mama started asking questions.  

But he’s never quite been able to shake seeing Jack in Georgia.  He’s never been able to cut to pieces the parts of that summer with Jack slotting seamlessly into his daily life, chatting with Bitty’s parents and helping Bitty can peaches and sneaking from the guest bedroom to Bitty’s room to kiss on top of the covers on Bitty’s bed when Bitty’s parents had gone to sleep.  

Bitty’s never been able to forget the way it felt to lie in the back of the truck with Jack on the Fourth of July, the blankets they put down doing nothing to stop the uneven grooves from digging into their shoulder blades.  Bitty didn’t care about that, then, and he didn’t care about the bug bites he’d be sporting the next morning, because he and Jack had some real privacy for the first time since Jack came into town.  Bitty clung so desperately, let himself feel the heat of his body pressed against Jack’s and the electricity of Jack’s hand on Bitty’s cheek and Jack’s lips on Bitty’s, the quiet little noises Bitty didn’t know he could make that got drowned out by the loud booms and fizzles of fireworks overhead.

When Bitty closes his eyes, sometimes, he’s back in Georgia, and he can still imagine the feel of Jack’s breath against his skin and the taste of his daddy’s beer in Jack’s mouth and the intensity of Jack’s focus and the way it made him feel like the most important person in the world.

And the way it hurt when Jack started playing professional hockey, and then suddenly Bitty wasn’t the most important person in the world, apparently, because Jack dropped off the radar entirely.

Right now, Bitty’s eyes aren’t closed, and Bitty isn’t back in Georgia.  Bitty isn’t in the world of four years ago, either.  He’s long since graduated, and Shitty knew someone who knew someone who had an in with the Bruins PR team, and now he’s living in Boston full-time.  Everything is different from the world that Bitty understood four years ago, the world full of first real crushes and first real kisses and first real hopes of a happily ever after.

Bitty isn’t anywhere near a happily ever after.  But the greatest irony of all is that Bitty is less alone now than he was then.

The trees aren’t rustling, but the grass next to Bitty is, because even in the silence of the moment, when the two of them are sitting together locked in their own thoughts, Kent Parson has never been good at staying still.  He’s staring at nothing across the pond and absently tearing at the thin blades of grass.  His mouth is tilted into a small frown and his Bruins t-shirt is sticking to his chest, and Bitty suspects that he doesn’t even notice.

Four years ago, Bitty would have rather wrung Parse’s neck than sit next to him for any length of time.

Now, Kent is Bitty’s... something.  Now, Kent came out here to sit in the heat with Bitty just so Bitty wouldn’t be by himself.  Now, Bitty is grateful for the company, is even grateful for that company being Kent.  Is especially grateful for that company being Kent.  Because just like Bitty could close his eyes and be in Georgia, Kent could close his eyes and be back in Quebec.  

Kent has told Bitty haltingly, in bits and pieces in their bed, his voice so low it was barely a whisper.  Like maybe it wasn’t Kent’s story to tell, even though it happened to him.  Kent has talked about even the coolest Montreal summers feeling blistering when he spent all his time in the ice rink, about the park near his billet house where he used to go with his  _best friend_.  Kent is so careful with his descriptions, like he’s carving out a hole in his story where another person used to be and filling in the empty space with a human-shaped stock character.

But Bitty knows.  Bitty’s heard Holster and Ransom and the commentators on TV talk about Jack and Kent like they were the Dream Team.  Bitty remembers Epikegster.  He doesn’t let himself forget it.  Bitty still doesn’t know the whole of what happened that night, but he thinks of it from time to time to remind himself to temper his idealism when it comes to the people he likes.  Bitty clung to Epikegster in his chest for months before he let himself start to hear and see Kent for more than his harshest words, before he started to consider that Jack left Kent the way Jack left Bitty.  But Bitty doesn’t forget for a second that Kent can hurt those who leave him, too.  

When Bitty tells his stories, he’s careful in the same way Kent is.  Kent knows, too, though.  Bitty can tell from the quiet understanding in Kent’s eyes and the far too-gentle touches that accompany Bitty’s stories that Kent knows.

It’s been two years, and they’ve never said Jack’s name out loud.  Jack still haunts them both in the heat of summer and the cold of winter, the ghost of happiness that both of them felt but neither of them expected to have.

Bitty is hoping for the day when he closes his eyes and thinks of Georgia and it no longer feels like a loss.

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr [here](https://polyamorousparson.tumblr.com).


End file.
